


Hubris

by Professor_Maka



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: F/M, Hubris, Post-Canon, Soul x Maka - Freeform, animeverse, reverb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-25
Updated: 2015-07-25
Packaged: 2018-04-11 01:53:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4416539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Professor_Maka/pseuds/Professor_Maka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Soul and Maka's world is turned upside down when Soul Eater becomes a Deathscythe and Lord Death's personal weapon all in one crazy morning. It's what they've worked for their entire partnership, so why does it feel so wrong? And why can't Soul resonate with his new meister? Will Lord Death really be able to manage the Black Blood and defeat the newly rampaging Eruka, or will it finally be Death who ends up on the rampage?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hubris

**Author's Note:**

> So this is it, my second solo fic for reverb, 16K of Animeverse post canon SoMa goodness! I’d like to thank the beta squad, ilarual, rebornfromash, bendandcurl, l0chn3ss, redphlox, sojustifiable, earth-shines, makapedia, therewithasmile, and finally, fabulousanima, who bats a mean cleanup. This fic is a whole lot better for their efforts.
> 
> The art collaboration by lisyeikan can be found linked to the post on my tumblr profile.

Working her toothbrush meticulously around her mouth as she did every morning, hair in the little wrapped buns she sometimes slept in, the last thing Maka Albarn expected to see was her own sleepy eyed visage replaced with the eerie mask of her god.

 

To her credit, she was far too much the Death Child to be startled, only blinking twice then ducking out of sight to spit out toothpaste and rinse her mouth briefly before reappearing to face the mirror above the sink. 

 

"Good morning, Sir," she said. And if her cheer was a little forced, well, she  had only been awake for five minutes. 

 

"Why, good morning yourself, Maka! Whazup? Hope you slept well!"

 

"Yes, thank you, sir. Can I--uh--help you?" Because in truth, her headmaster/god/boss had never called their bathroom--she was generally the one to call his mirror--so she was confused. 

 

"Yes, actually. I need you and Soul Eater to report to the Death Room this morning--you are both excused from classes for the day. Can you be here in an hour?"

 

"Yes," she said, nodding slowly at first, then more quickly. "Of course, sir."

 

"Good, good!" the Deathgod said cheerfully. "See you soon, then!" 

 

With a last jaunty wave he was gone, and Maka was left with her own reflection once more. Her mirror self blinked back at her in confusion; things had settled down since the defeat of Asura, and they were a week from graduating, and the last time they’d been summoned so abruptly they’d nearly been expelled, so she really couldn't figure out what they'd done wrong. 

 

 

* * *

 

Their nervousness was palpable as they strode into the Death Room; it writhed between their connected souls in an endless feedback loop. Neither would let it show, and to any outsiders, Maka exuded the same cheerful confidence she always had, and Soul wore the same look of perpetual boredom that had long since become his default. Only they knew of their shared misgivings about this odd summons--only they realized they were fighting the joint urge to hold hands, to hang onto something. It felt like extra lessons all over again. Maka had believed they were long past being berated for incompetence, but then, why else should they be called upon so suddenly? If it were truly urgent, a matter of needing them in the field, they would have simply been given instructions. This made no sense, and the confusion and trepidation hung between them, thick and heavy.

 

Approaching with a confidence she could not feel as she passed under the garish guillotines that lined the path into the Death Room, Maka felt that like those gruesome markers heralded their fate somehow. She finally came to a halt as she entered the main space, finding her father next to Lord Death (as was usual) and Stein present as well (as was not precisely uncommon). They all looked rather serious, and between that seriousness and the witch’s soul she could sense among them, Maka had to stifle the urge to peer into the souls of her elders to get answers.

 

The Deathgod stood in silence, cartoonishly large hands settled in front of him in a gesture that might have been formal if it didn’t instead come off as comical due to the sheer disproportion of the extremities. Nonetheless, Maka was far too inured to notice in normal circumstances--it was only her mounting anxiety that had her mind wandering to odd places, forcing her to stifle a nervous titter. If Soul noticed, he managed to keep his thoughts to himself, though she could sense a similar apprehension coming from him.

 

Lord Death cleared his throat (did he even have a throat? Death Child though she was, even Maka didn’t actually know) and the two students snapped to attention, Soul standing straight and still for once.

 

“So, Meister Maka, Soul Eater,” he began, his oddly high voice almost solemn. “It has come to my attention that the two of you have achieved your goal.”

 

“We--have?” she blinked, surprised. So much had happened that she had to scramble to consider what he even  meant, but then realized he must be talking about soul collection, for what other goal could earn such an audience? She also realized that he was wrong; while they were certainly very close--they  had  collected 98 souls--they were still short one kishin and a witch to make Soul a Deathscythe like her Papa. 

 

In truth, Maka had deliberately kept soul collecting off her mind. So close to their goal, she was afraid that Soul would be reassigned when they reached it, and the thought was difficult for her to face. She couldn’t say why--when they had fought Blair, the idea hadn’t bothered her in the slightest--but over several more years and battles, having gone through so much together, the thought of wielding another weapon, of taking on a new partner, had her stomach in knots.

 

In the end, her worry was pointless; it would happen, and  soon , she had to accept that. Still, they could remain friends even if he was reassigned. Even if they couldn't be partners. Even if it would never be the same. That was just the way of things--Deathscythes belonged to Death, and he could do with them as he pleased. 

 

“Well, yes indeed!” Death said cheerfully. “You have logged 99 kishin souls and--”

 

“No." Maka shook her head. “Actually, we’ve only captured 98 souls.”

 

“She’s right,” Soul put in gruffly. “98 missions, 98 souls since you  so kindly  confiscated the first 99. We’ve got one left to nab, plus a witch.”

 

Staring into the empty eyeholes of the skull mask in front of them, Maka suppressed a shiver. Usually, Lord Death was cheerful, but the unreadable mask emanated annoyance, and the annoyance of a god was something any sane person should wish to avoid.

 

“Wrong on both counts!” Stein joined the discussion in that annoyingly cheerful singsong he reserved for taunting his students mercilessly. “In actuality, while you did indeed take on 98 missions, the kishin the two of you defeated in Antwerp six months ago had a partner we had not anticipated, if you recall--you did write the mission report, after all. That was two souls. So the tally is, indeed, 99.”

 

Biting her lip in thought, Maka nodded slowly. Stein was right--she had forgotten to count that as two souls since she normally kept tally by the mission. But that still left--

 

“Fine, great, we’re still short a witch,” Soul voiced her thought before she could. He had shoved his hands in his pockets forcefully, and Maka could sense his mounting dread. He should be happy, thrilled even at the prospect they were close. They both should. Somehow, they weren’t, both instead waiting for the proverbial other shoe to drop. 

 

“Ah, but you’re also wrong there,” Stein said, his grin so wide it appeared nearly sinister. "You see, you’ve defeated a witch in your time, and while her soul, most regrettably, disappeared, you also defeated the Kishin himself.”

 

“Which helps us how, exactly?” Soul snapped in irritation before Maka could stop him. “Because I don’t recall--”

 

“It is a little known truth,” Stein continued blithely. “That the Kishin had eaten Arachne’s soul just before Miss Albarn here destroyed fear through courage. When that happened, the very same soul he’d not yet had time to properly absorb was set free. You all were far too distracted to notice at the time, but others were well aware soon enough, and her soul was collected and preserved. As you both had not only defeated a witch previously, but also seeing as Miss Albarn was the one who defeated Asura, Lord Death decided that Arachne’s soul would be yours when the time came. And, as we’ve just established, the time has come.”

 

Lord Death stepped closer then, hand outstretched meaningfully, the pulsing purple witch’s soul that hadn’t been visible suddenly right before them. Maka heard a sniffle and shifted her eyes for a moment to see tears running down her father’s cheeks, a wide, proud smile firmly in place. She couldn’t help it--she smiled back. Much as she’d come to fear this moment, this separation, she was also  proud . She had worked so long and hard to achieve this. They both had. She reached out to clasp Soul’s hand and was unsurprised to find it, not in a pocket, but similarly reaching for her own. Their fingers intertwined, squeezing firmly.

 

They had done it--together  they had done it!

 

And Death might not reassign Soul, really. They were about to graduate, and Maka was set to take her three star exam. She could conceivably be allowed to remain with her Deathscythe since they were such a potent, well calibrated team. Everyone knew they had the strongest soul resonance anyone had seen in decades, and the Black Blood would be a threat to anyone but her. Surely Death would keep them together as a team.

 

Her heart swelling at finally achieving their long held dream as she realized she was probably worrying over nothing, the scythe meister grinned from ear to ear. “Lord Death, thank you! That’s amazing. So now--right now, Soul will--”

 

“Become a Deathscythe?” the Deathgod suggested cheerily. “Yep!” He moved his hand closer, soul still in place. 

 

“Uh,” Soul said, and Maka could feel his hesitation, his nervousness. She squeezed his hand reassuringly, then let go, prodding him gently through their connection.  It’s fine. Take it. We’ve earned this.

 

She refused to acknowledge his unspoken ‘but,' and was relieved when he shuffled forward to take the soul from Death gingerly. 

 

Glancing from an uncharacteristically stoic Lord Death, to a teary eyed Spirit, to a stone-faced Stein, and finally, turning around to face his meister, soul in hand, her weapon smiled nervously. Maka smiled back and gave a thumbs up, causing him to return the gesture automatically, his grin widening, his nervousness lessening with her enthusiasm. 

 

“So, uh, here goes nothing, I guess,” Soul said, his eyes not leaving hers. “Thanks for the grub.”

 

And with that, he tilted his head back, dangled the soul over his mouth, and took it in as he had 199 times before.

 

This time, however, instead of the usual small surge of power, there was a wave of energy, strong and bright, that pulsed out from her weapon. Soul fell to his knees, mouth open in a silent scream. It wasn’t a gesture of pain--no, their souls were so connected she knew he was not hurt. This was unbridled power, so strong that he was trying to learn to contain it as it surged through his body, bolstering him, changing him. Maka felt a shiver of anticipation, of pride and of joy. She’d never witnessed the birth of a Deathscythe, and now here she was, watching the forging of her own.

 

It did not last longer than a minute, and soon enough he was standing, brushing off his knees and grinning at her--she could sense the new power coursing through him, along with the elation at finally feeling whole. She grinned back just as widely, proud, so proud, and held out her hand, a silent command he instantly complied with, disappearing in a flash to reform in her waiting hand, a Deathscythe at last. She spun him around a few times experimentally, getting used to his new size, before holding him at arm's length to admire the change, for changed he was.

 

His new form was beautiful. 

 

Where once he had been plain and unadorned, he was now gilded, with wing-like lines jutting out gloriously from his scythe eye. His blade was also changed--it was longer, and the jagged zig zag took up only the smallest part, clean lines of red and black curving perfectly along the length of it.

 

“Amazing,” she breathed after a moment.

 

She tuned out the murmuring that arose in the room as she spun him again in awe. He was a Deathscythe-- her  Deathscythe. The grin that was plastered on her face could not be contained, and their souls interlaced in an automatic resonance that bespoke their elation. They’d done it. Together-- together \--they’d finally made him a Deathscythe!

 

The murmuring shifted to a pointed throat clearing, and Maka stopped in her contact moves, facing her impromptu audience with a smile, Soul firmly in her grip. Her father remained teary across the way, though his smile was also just as proud, and Stein still seemed unnervingly smug.

 

“Yes, well, congratulations, Maka, on forging your first Deathscythe!” Lord Death said with a clap of his oversized hands, his voice as cheerful as always. “I expect it will not be your last! And to that end--congratulations as well to you, Soul Eater, on your new status as Death Scythe. You are truly a powerful, worthy weapon, and from this point forward, I am pleased to say you will be my personal weapon. I look forward to working together!”

 

There was a simultaneously gasped  what from at least three parties in the room, along with a flash of light as Soul transformed and stood next to Maka.

 

“But, don’t you--” Maka stammered, surprised.

 

“But I thought--” Soul began.

 

“But what about--” Spirit shouted at the same time, grabbing Death’s robe and receiving a Reaper Chop for his trouble, sending him sprawling to the floor.

 

“Silence!” the Deathgod bellowed in a deep voice, quelling the emerging chaos. He seemed to grow, to change, the room darkening in the wake of his anger. Stein remained silent at his side, and his knowing smile had Maka’s feeling ill. Much as she liked and respected the Professor, she knew he had a sadistic side and reveled in experiments of all types, social experiments included. This did not bode well for their current situation.

 

The three who had initiated the simultaneous outburst were instantly quelled, blinking at their god as he cleared his throat again and seemed to shrink.

 

“Yes, well. Soul." He turned to the newly minted Deathscythe, his voice regaining the cheerful lilt once more. “You have proven your loyalty, your intelligence, your fortitude, and your bravery again and again. I believe you have the makings of a superb Death Scythe, and I have decided that it is high time someone new was given a crack at the position. As such, Soul--and Maka.” Hevshifted his eyes between them. “Your partnership is officially dissolved as of this moment.” His eyes fixed on the meister then, and neither dared to speak. “Maka, you will continue your classes through graduation next week, after which you will remained assigned to Death City under the employ of Shibusen, at least for the time being. I expect you to scout recent graduates and current students a new weapon--we are expecting great things from you!” he practically sang out the last part, emphasizing his enthusiasm with another clap of the hands. Maka nodded but said nothing, and the Grim Reaper turned to the weapon at her side. 

 

“Soul, you will be given rooms at the Academy so that you can remain at hand, and the remainder of your course requirements will be waived to allow you to graduate with your class next week. I’ll be sending along some movers to your apartment to help you retrieve your things--and I expect you should be settled within the next day or two.” Soul also nodded, though he seemed about to speak. Maka grabbed his hand, squeezing hard to stifle any action--she could feel the protest in his soul and it would do no good to voice it.

 

“Alright, dismissed! I expect you to report back in the morning, Soul. Or should I say,  Death Scythe? Professor Stein will go over some basic details with you when you arrive for your first day tomorrow. Congratulations again, you two!”

 

With that, Death stepped back, signaling their dismissal, and Maka let out a heavy breath, her head still spinning. 

 

She heard an incoherent noise from her father as he shot up from where he’d lain dazed on the floor, face distraught. “But--Lord Death--what about me?” he cried. “If you make the octopus head your Death Scythe, what will I--”

 

“Ah, yes, Spirit!” Death said cheerfully. “I very nearly forgot. Thank you for your years of service as my weapon, but your expertise will no longer be required. As I said, Soul has proven himself unfailingly loyal, and this is what I most seek in my personal weapon. Consequently, you will be placed back into my Deathscythe reserves and reassigned. As it would be untenable to keep three Deathweapons at the academy, and since Marie is quite unable to be transferred at the current time, you will take up residence in Oceania in her stead--I’m sure you’ll find it to your liking. Now then, that takes care of--”

 

“But--But--” Spirit stammered, in shock as he stumbled towards his former meister. “I--and what--and Maka? I can’t--you can’t--please don’t separate me from my darling Maka!” he shrieked, falling to his knees to clutch at Death’s robes. 

 

“Maka is certainly welcome to request transfer if she wishes, though she will need to remain at the Academy for the next six months to ensure her adjustment as a Three Star Meister.” 

 

Spirit was snivelling at his god's feet now, completely distraught. “Wait, no, please--” he began to wail, but Death simply executed a second Reaper Chop, laying him out before he could cause anymore damage to the collective eardrums of the room, and Maka wasn’t sure if she was grateful or angry because she wanted to protest herself. Much as she got annoyed with her father, to supplant him so easily seemed unusually cruel, and to do it at the expense of her partnership with her own weapon left her feeling numb, but she could not,  would not , let it show. 

 

“Th--thank you, Lord Death!”

 

“Of course!” The Deathgod waved a hand in dismissal, and Maka yanked her reluctant weapon--no, ex-weapon now,  she thought with a knot in her stomach--away, stepping carefully past her father to move back under the guillotines and through the Death Room door. 

 

For a time they said nothing as she led him through the school. They needed to talk, to clear the air, she knew that, but she also needed to calm down, to shove away her anger over her father, her sadness at losing her weapon, and to embraced the pride and elation that still left her feeling light headed. Maka took a roundabout way as she guided their steps to their favorite balcony, and finally composed, heart full, she halted as they reached the edge. Her gaze remained carefully trained on the cityscape, and for a time, Soul's was as well , their hands still intertwined. Then he spoke her name.

 

She didn’t look at him, eyes still on the city sprawled beneath them as she nodded. “Well, we did it,” she said with forced cheer.

 

“Yeah.” His voice was flat. “Looks like we did.”

 

“You’re Death’s weapon, now, the official Death Scythe! Just like we always wanted!” she continued, her voice so bright it was nearly manic. 

 

His only response was a noncommittal hum. Maka stifled a sigh. Soul was holding back his emotion, she could feel the effort. There was no elation in him, only something like sadness, something like regret, and she didn't quite  get it . She might be sad to lose him as a weapon and upset by what had happened with her Papa, but she was also proud, of her Deathscythe and of herself, of what they'd done together, and his response was puzzling. Still, all she could do was reassure and move on, because they both had to, now. 

 

There was no choice. 

 

"It's cool, you know?" she said, her head finally turning towards his, her eyes seeking his gaze. "It'll be cool. To be Death Scythe, and you heard Lord Death, he thinks you're better than my Papa! We did it!" She was rambling, she knew she was, but she had to fill the silence. Maybe if she told them both that this was a good thing enough times it would make it true. "You know what? We should celebrate! I can make whatever you want for dinner, dessert even, and we can watch a movie or--even go out if you'd like! And you know, we'll still both be around, so it's not like we won't see each other, won't still be friends. It's gonna be great, Soul. You'll be the coolest weapon, just like you've always wanted, and I'll--"

 

He'd finally turned to her at that. "Was already the coolest weapon 'cause I was yours," he said gruffly. "Told you before you're the coolest meister ever. But yeah, sure, let's celebrate." The smirk he showed her was so forced it was almost a grimace. "You earned this, so how 'bout Thai take out and we finally watch  Les Miserables like you've been wanting to--sound good?"

 

Thai was her favorite, and the movie was one he'd been avoiding for a year. She smiled back, and this time it was genuine. "I think that sounds totally cool."

 

His return smile was soft and real as they turned away from the balcony towards home, neither much minding that they were still hand in hand.

 

 

* * *

 

"Again," Lord Death said in his overly cheerful voice. The Deathgod's large, cold, blunt fingers felt odd and wrong against the smooth metal of the Deathscythe's haft, but that was practically pleasant compared to that same god's massive, powerful soul rushing through him, attempting to connect. His soul was as large and cold and blunt as his hands, and the newly minted Deathscythe found his own soul rebuking the foreign presence almost instinctually. 

 

He wasn't sure he could have made it work if he really were trying his hardest, which he honestly wasn't. The thought of resonating with someone  not Maka \--especially a presence so odd and overwhelming--was anathema to him, and he had no issues accepting failure, the reality of being Death's weapon far less glamorous than his fourteen year old past self would ever have been willing to acknowledge. Eighteen year old Soul was fully willing to admit he vastly preferred his nerdy ex-meister.

 

Actually, “preferred” was the understatement of the century; Soul missed her terribly and wanted nothing more than to go home. A thousand thousand Maka chops would still be better than this living hell. 

 

As his soul automatically rejected the foreign presence yet again, he became hot and heavy in his new meister's hands, clattering to the ground for the umpteenth time that day. This was their third day trying, Soul's first day in his new quarters, and they were no closer to resonance than they had been the first time the Deathgod had tried to force his soul through his weapon. 

 

Soul transformed, squatting and blinking up at his god while suppressing a shudder at the memories of their many failed attempts to link their souls. He tried not to think of how much closer the darkness felt with each new attempt, the madness he had thought long contained practically buzzing through his veins as he was bombarded with wave after wave of power. Maybe the Reaper would give up for the day and Soul could actually spend some long overdue time with his mei--with Maka. It had been days since they'd done more than exchange cursory greetings, he was so exhausted from 'training,' and he desperately needed her presence to help soothe the fissures he could feel forming in his soul.

 

As he saw Death hold out one giant white gloved hand in expectation, he knew he'd get no such reprieve. Stifling a heavy sigh, he transformed once more and braced himself for yet another invasion attempt.

 

That renewed attempt never occurred since, just at that moment, a loud, almost shrill cry of "Father, we need to talk!" rang across the Death Room. It was a voice the Deathscythe knew and knew well, and Soul couldn't help but to smile internally at the thought that, if their god had no mercy, at least his son  did .

 

His savior strode under the last guillotine lining the path to stand before his father, and Soul resisted the urge to transform as he was leaned precariously on one of his meister's bony shoulders. 

 

"Why hello there, Kiddo!" Lord Death said cheerfully, ignoring the cold stare his own son was offering him. "I see you've returned from your mission. How did--"

 

"Just what the hell do you think you're playing at, father?" Kid cut him off. Soul wasn't sure he'd ever seen the young Reaper more angry, and couldn't help but to wonder what his new meister had done this time to earn his son's ire. 

 

Lord Death tilted his head in question. "You'll have to be more specific. I'm really unsure what you--"

 

"Why--" Kid cut him off again mercilessly, clearly seething "--are you wielding Soul instead of Spirit?"

 

For his part, Soul wasn't sure what to think. Why was Kid so angry? He'd never seen the younger Reaper show much interest in his father's Deathscythes before. Hell, he'd even decided on his own weapons instead of choosing one of the Deathweapons already existent. Why start worrying over what his father did with them now?

 

The Deathgod paused for a moment in seeming thought, but soon enough broke the heavy silence. "While I appreciate the concern, Kiddo, I'm afraid how I manage my personal weapons is my business, not yours. Perhaps--"

 

"How you treat my  friends is absolutely my business, Father, and separating Soul and Maka is nothing short of cruel, not to mention foolhardy." He was calm now, though Soul knew the younger Shinigami well enough to guess it was forced, his fists white knuckled where they hung clenched at his sides. At least that explained his concern. For some inexplicable reason, Kid was worried about him, or rather, about  them .

 

But  why ?

 

"My choice to take on a new weapon is hardly cruel, and really Kiddo, I don't see--"

 

"You must see their bond is so close that separating them should be a last resort--but even if that holds no meaning for you, Father," the word was said with the venom of his frustration,"their resonance is unmatched--they are stronger together than they would ever be with other partners, and Spirit is far more experienced, far more capable in your hands without the issues you will inevitably have with your newest weapon--or have you so quickly forgotten the  Black Blood ?"

 

"Enough!" Death dropped his lilting voice for the deep, thundering tone of his original persona, causing the Deathscythe to shudder within his soul space. Kid visibly cringed, taking a step back. "My weapons are none of your concern," he continued, his voice resuming its previously high pitch, "and we have work to do. So if you'll excuse us?"

 

"You're making a mistake," Kid said firmly, his eyes on his father. Then his gaze drifted to the weapon on his shoulder. "I'm sorry," he said, then shook his head. "You should try to visit Maka when you can--she won't say it, but she really misses you."

 

So that was it. That was where this was coming from. Maka must really be taking this badly, as badly as he was, if Kid was this disturbed. She'd seemed so strong, so resigned, that he'd assumed he was suffering alone. The thought that he  wasn't , that she was just as lost as he was, had his heart pounding and his stomach in knots with a sickening mix of worry and elation. He absolutely abhorred that she was upset, but it gave him hope that he wasn't alone in how much he needed her. If there was one thing this separation had taught him, it was that he absolutely hated being without her.

 

If she was as bad off as he was, no wonder Kid was so angry.

 

With one last long, sympathetic look, Death the Kid turned on his heel and left the Death Room, leaving Soul to stew once more in his own personal hell. 

 

 

* * *

 

Maka sighed.

 

"And this is your second year?" she asked the young teen seated in front of her with a strained smile. 

 

"Oh, yeah, I totally start my second year in the fall," the bouncy blonde said, nodding and smiling.

 

"So you're a first year," the scythe meister corrected, not quite gritting her teeth and refraining from pinching the bridge of her nose in sheer frustration. "And you're part of the EAT class?" she asked hopefully, only to receive a sheepish negation that had Maka stifling yet another sigh. 

 

This was her second day of interviewing prospective weapons, and while she'd discovered that most of her classmates were apparently illiterate--her flyer had asked for junior and senior long handled weapons, preferably EAT, and she had seen any number of lower class NOT swords, axes, knives, and even a shield, with only three long handled weapons in the bunch--she was nowhere near finding a replacement. Not that she actually relished replacing Soul. Not that she even thought she really  could . 

 

"Uh no, NOT?" The girl looked even more sheepish.

 

The meister nodded. Disappointing, but not unexpected. "And what type of weapon are you?"

 

“Oh! Well, you said you wanted long handled weapons, and--” Maka perked up at the last and stood to hold out her hand commandingly, cutting off the stream of babble. 

 

“Why don’t you just show me?” she smiled, and it was at least half genuine.

 

“Show you--you mean--you want to wield me?” Her eyes were bright with awe, with excitement. Maka nodded briefly, hand still outstretched, and there was a brief flash before the weapon landed in her hand. The instinct to give her a cursory spin was strong, but the wood handle and odd heft of the the weapon felt wrong in her hands, so she looked up her length find out what she held.

 

She nearly screamed in frustration at the sight that greeted her.

 

A pitchfork. The girl was a bloody  pitchfork .

 

She’d heard rumors that there was a pitchfork among the first year NOT students, everyone had--she’d just never expected the girl to apply to be her weapon.

 

Such a weapon was not suitable for contact material. Longhandled, sure, but not the type of weapon a habitual scythe meister like herself would easily transition to, with the focus on piercing and no ability to slash. She  could wield such a thing--she prided herself on the notion that she could wield just about anything--but the truth was, she didn’t  want to. The truth was, she didn’t want to wield anyone but Soul, even if that option had been ripped away, torn from her so quickly that it had left her feeling far more wounded than she cared to admit. 

 

This was hopeless. She wasn’t going to be able to find another partner here and now, in a pool of applicants full of underclassmen and unsuitable weapon types, but even had they all been senior scythes, she still wasn’t sure she would find a weapon. She wasn’t convinced she would ever be able to replace what was lost, and that thought had her sighing again as she gave the pitchfork a few cursory, halfhearted stabs for show before ordering the underclassman to transform.

 

“Well, thank you for coming,” Maka said with yet another forced smile. “I’ll be contacting my new partner within the next few weeks, so if you don’t hear from me, I’ve made another choice--have a nice evening!” she said brightly, falsely. From the crestfallen parting smile of the other girl, Maka could tell she’d realized that she wouldn't be her choice.

 

Better than false hope, anyway.

 

Relieved that the NOT student had been the last applicant of the day, Maka slumped back in her chair and began to gather her things. Maybe she should start going to the registrar and pulling the files of those interested in becoming her weapon, narrow it down before she called them in to interview. It would certainly avoid wasting her time on first year NOT pitchforks.

 

The door opened and closed in the small classroom she’d been granted for her interviews, and she didn’t even look up, just called out, “Sorry, interviews are over for the day,” as she finished gathering up the papers in front of her.

 

“Ah, but Papa isn’t looking for an interview,” a familiar voice sang out and she tried not to cringe. Things had been a little better with her father since the incident in the Death Room--Maka felt so bad for him that she couldn’t really keep up a facade of irritation for long--but if anything, their semi-reconciliation had him even more unhappy over being sent away.

 

“Hey, Papa. I forgot we’re supposed to practice,” she said flatly. “Let me just--finish getting my stuff, okay?” 

 

They had practiced together a few times since he had lost his title as Death Scythe, and while he seemed to adore working with her, she spent every session counting the seconds until it was over. Sure he was long handled, a beautiful weapon, light and elegant, and yet, she hated practicing with her father, absolutely loathed it. He felt strange and  wrong  in her hands, and every time she held him, her heart ached for her old weapon. 

 

Well, it didn’t matter. Soul was lost to her--he was Shinigami’s weapon and she’d just have to--have to get over it, was all. It didn’t matter that their apartment felt cold and empty without him, that her life, her very heart felt like a dying ember in his absence--none of it mattered because he was gone gone  gone , and it was either find a new weapon or give up on a career with the DWMA, give up everything she’d ever known. 

 

Neither option was particularly appealing, and her regret that they had ever made Soul into a  Deathscythe  washed through her forcefully as it had many times since that day.

 

She shoved it down. He was a Deathscythe,  the Death Scythe, and no amount of regret could change that. She would not regret, she would be proud, damnit. She would embrace what they had done together.

 

She had no doubt, in spite of his fears, in spite of his haggard, haunted eyes the few times she had seen him--briefly, so briefly--since, that Soul would adjust, would come to love being Death’s weapon. Maka would be proud of him, she would adjust, too-- she had to .

 

Her father’s shuffling steps pulled her from her thoughts and she shouldered her bag to join him, to make their way to the training forest, trying desperately to ignore the ache that still rested deep within her heart.

 

 

* * *

 

It had been over a week. They would both graduate in several days time, and Maka would find a new weapon and be assigned who knew where, he was sure of it. He had read it in Death’s attempts to resonate with him, sensed it in his new meister’s mounting frustration.

 

Maka was a distraction. She had to go. She would be an asset in the field at another branch.

 

They couldn’t even maintain their close friendship, then, would have to subsist on the occasional phone call and letter.

 

It hurt. It hurt so fucking much. Soul couldn’t lose her--she was the one really good thing that had ever happened to him, the one true bright spot in the steaming turd that had been his life. 

 

He loved her. 

 

He’d realized it two nights ago, exhausted, collapsed on his old bed in his new room, staring at the ceiling and missing her presence desperately, wanting just to be near her, to watch TV, to watch whatever shitty movie she wanted, to listen to the worst ever music she might pick--to chop him silly every other word, he didn’t fucking care. He  needed her--it was obvious, painfully fucking obvious. Maka was his best friend, his soulmate, and he felt incomplete with her not at the center of his life, like he was missing a limb. Like he was missing his heart. 

 

And then the gears in his mind had kicked in; he’d remembered every dream about her, how her presence could calm in one instant and then, the right look, the right smile could make his pulse race, and the things he’d written off as stupid or hormonal or simply had chosen to ignore added up in his head--two plus two was four every time--and he’d realized that he loved her. Was in love with her. That he, Soul Eater, once Soul Evans, apathetic-would-be-cool guy, was in love with his nerdy badass bookworm of a meister.

 

The realization was less shocking that he thought it should be. He supposed he’d been feeling it for so long now, even if he’d never quite been willing to call a spade a spade, that to finally name it, this amorphous, consuming thing  he felt for her--had long  long felt for her--was a relief.

 

At least he understood it now. Why he needed her. Why working with someone else felt dirty, wrong, impossible.

 

Maka was his soulmate. Only her.  Only her.

 

He should probably tell her that, though Soul wasn’t sure how she would react, and it wouldn’t change his current reality. Still, it wasn’t like it could make things worse at this point, and maybe, just maybe, if she felt a sliver of what he did, they could figure out a way to make this liveable. Because just now? Just now, he loathed being a Deathscythe. His dream for so long, wrought of adolescent insecurity, had turned into his worst fucking nightmare.

 

Soul ran his hand absently along the teacup in front of him as he sat at his new meister’s conjured table. Lord Death had decided to bring Stein in to observe since resonance still eluded them, and so they were waiting on the Professor. The Deathscythe desperately hoped they’d be waiting indefinitely, but of course that was asking too much--no sooner than the thought was out, he heard shuffling steps and a tall, grey haired figure in mostly white could be seen in the distance, walking towards them under the guillotines. Soul might have wished one would fall on the sadistic bastard and delay more of the horror that was attempting to resonate with his god, but really, this wasn’t Stein’s fault. 

 

If anything, he should probably blame himself for not walking away before it got to this point, for ever becoming a Deathscythe to begin with. Then again, he would face far more for Maka, to fulfill her dream. 

 

Sometimes, there really was no good path. 

 

It’s not like life hadn’t beaten that lesson into him a dozen times before, but sometimes, he wished he could catch a break. Just this once. Especially this once.

 

No such luck, of course, so as Lord Death chatted briefly with Stein before extending an expectant hand, Soul found himself transforming for his god. He braced himself for the onrush of his meister’s overpowering soul and once more felt battered, cracked, fraying as he was shaken repeatedly by the alien presence. Finally, as he felt something like madness begin to seep into the rapidly expanding cracks, the onslaught ended and Death commanded him to transform back into his human shape. 

 

Soul was more than happy to oblige, and all three of them moved to the tea table to discuss Stein’s observations. 

 

Opting for black coffee, the Professor tapped a finger on the side of his cup twice, turned the screw in his head, then looked between Soul and Lord Death, seated at opposite sides of the table.

 

“Upon observation of your resonance attempt, I believe that I have pinpointed the issue,” he said, his eyes settling on the scythe ominously. 

 

“Which would be?” Death said, sounding more than a bit impatient even with his cartoonishly high voice.

 

“Your weapon is resisting your soul,” he responded immediately, his eyes moving to the Deathgod. “Rejecting, actually. It is less a lack of compatibility than an active, though perhaps subconscious, defense mechanism on his part.” His gaze turned back to Soul, glasses glinting beneath the bright blue skyscape of the room. “Unless you are purposefully trying to thwart your meister’s attempts to resonate with you?”

 

“Noooooo,” Soul balked immediately. “You think I like practicing all day, every day? Fuck that,  no . I’m trying to resonate, it just--it’s not  working . Maybe I’m not cut out--”

 

“You’re Death Scythe now, and that choice wasn’t made lightly,” Stein interrupted the thought before it could be spoken. “This can be overcome, and easily.” The Professor shifted his gaze back to the Deathgod. “Force the issue. Your soul is too potent to be denied if you push hard enough. Don’t hold back, and the resonance will come, and once you have broken through and moved past this, it will come far more easily in the future.”

 

Lord Death sighed. “Yes, well, I had hoped to resonate more naturally, but it may be that this is the only way."

 

Soul nodded slowly, carefully. It was a threat--or a warning--shape up and get with the program or deal with the consequences. 

 

They just didn't fucking  get it. 

 

"I reaaally don't think that's a good idea," Soul spoke up, and spectacled eyes and empty eye sockets swiveled in his direction.

 

"And why is that?" Stein asked, turning the screw in his head again as he kept his eyes focused on his former student.

 

"Black Blood," Soul answered, hands folding together on the edge of the table. "I thought it was dormant, contained, but I've been--" he grimaced, unhappy to have to reveal so much, but desperate to stop this "--feeling it  stir , I guess, whenever we try to resonate, and I don't think--"

 

"That's the problem, really.  You don't think . Do you really believe Lord Death himself would be in danger from this? True Shinigami can't be poisoned--and as the the Black Blood should therefore pose little threat to a full blooded Reaper, there is no need to continue to coax you. Don’t worry, Eater, Lord Death should be able to contain whatever problems arise in handling his own weapon.” The sardonic tone paired with a too wide grin was far from comforting. 

 

"I--don't think that would be a good idea," Soul shook his head, feeling his stomach drop. 

 

"Yes, well, it's really not your choice," Stein raised his eyes to their mutual god. "Thoughts?" 

 

Death cleared his throat and the mask, so empty yet so oddly expressive, turned to his new weapon, "I'm afraid Professor Stein is right, Soul. If we can't manage to match wavelengths soon, then I will need to take his advice." 

 

The Deathscythe just shook his head again, foreboding settling deep within his bones. The unpleasantness of his meister's alien soul aside, the Black Blood was a true threat, and the thought that Death himself might become consumed by the same madness that still clawed at Soul, suffocating, was nothing short of frightening. 

 

Not that he'd have a choice when the time came.

 

Soul wanted to scream, wanted to pray for mercy, but the only person he knew how to pray to was sitting right across from him, the source of his agony. 

 

He prayed anyway, prayed to any and all who would listen that he was wrong and that things weren’t on the cusp of going straight to hell.

 

 

* * *

  
  


Maka should be enjoying herself. Her friends were laughing around her at some crude joke Patti had made, the bento boxes Tsubaki brought in for all of them to celebrate their last days as students were delicious, and she had just found out she’d passed her Three Star evaluation with honors. Things were good. Things were  great.

 

Then why did it all feel so wrong? Why did the food her friend had so lovingly prepared prepared turn to ash in her mouth? Why did receiving the news she had passed the Three Star exam make her stomach twist, her heart drop as she was told by Sid that they all looked forward to her training another weapon soon? 

 

Why did it all feel so empty?

 

At first, Maka had tried to rationalize it, to believe it was something else, anything else. Blair had left last month to return to her own house, insisting “Blair’s Kittens need their space, sweetie, they don’t need Blair anymore,” and with Soul gone, too, Maka was alone in the apartment. She’d figured she was just lonely living by herself.

 

Yet she wasn’t alone--s he had friends, she had a life, a good life--that wasn’t why she felt so lost.

 

In truth, Maka knew why, knew by the ache in her heart and in her soul, the vacant place where  he had long since come to belong. She knew yet refused to acknowledge it because she could not change it, because it would be pointless, because she hadn’t seen Soul in days, sequestered as he was with his new meister, so close yet so utterly lost to her.

 

She hated it and wished she’d never made him into a Deathscythe. A week of trying to convince herself it was for the best and that was still the only conclusion she could come to, that her weak, silly little heart would allow her to come to. 

 

It was stupid because she knew better, was the product of why it was such a bad idea to begin with. Not that it changed a damn thing. 

 

It was even more stupid that it had taken something so drastic as being ripped asunder for her to see it, to realize, but then, it's not as if she would have acted on it had she been more self aware. 

 

Really, it was all just absurd, and what was the stupidest thing of all was that she wasn't sure what she would do when she did see Soul again--if she would just march up and kiss him because, hell, it wasn't like they had a partnership to lose, not anymore, or if she would just--shove it down and bite her tongue because he probably didn't share her feelings, not like that, and even if he did the last thing she wanted was to follow in her parents' footsteps.

 

Then again, it was a little late to worry about that when her heart was already his--and Soul was not her Papa, was nothing like her Papa, and she couldn’t imagine spending her life with anyone else, the past be damned. This wasn’t about the past, anyway, but about the future.

 

Maybe she would kiss him after all. 

 

She was jolted from her reverie by a punch to the arm, and acting on reflex, Maka snatched up the book from the table beside her and slammed it down on a head of spiky blue hair to an indignant shout of, “Hey, no chopping in Love Punch!” 

 

“Huh?” was her eloquent reply.

 

“Damn, your head is so far up your own ass this week you’re fucking tonguing yourself. If you’re the first to see some assholes making out or making gooey eyes or whatever the fuck, you punch the person next to you,” the assassin said with a grin. “Then again, since you’re all gooey eyed as fuck lately, that shit’s a waste.” He rolled his eyes. “Go find him, push him against the damn lockers, and have your freaky way with him. He ain’t gonna protest, trust.”

 

Maka blinked and shook her head, fingers twitching on her book. “I--have no idea what you’re talking about,” she finally said with a sigh.

 

This only earned another eye roll, though all of her friends were staring at her with varying levels of sympathy, smugness, annoyance, or a mixture of all. 

 

“Whaaaaaatever.” Black*Star shrugged. “You gonna eat that?” He eyed her full bento. “‘Cause--”

 

“Take it, I’m not hungry,” she shoved it over. “I need to go study before class. I’ll--see you all later, okay?”

 

Rising and shoving the book in her bag, Maka turned to go, only slightly surprised by footsteps matching her own as she left the cafeteria. She knew her friends were trying to cheer her up, in their strange way, Black*Star included, but really, she just needed to be alone, catch her breath, come to terms with--with all of it.

 

“Wait, Maka, I’ll walk with you,” Death the Kid’s smooth voice came from a few feet behind her, and she paused just outside the doors to let him catch up.

 

“You really dont have to, I’m fine,” she said with a forced smile as he joined her.

 

“I need to check out a few books myself anyway.”

 

“I was going to study on the balcony, so--”

 

“Then I won’t trouble you for long,” Kid said mildly. “But you are correct in assuming that I have ulterior motives--I was hoping we could talk.” She slowed down in the empty hall and turned to face him. Maybe the best way to allay her friends’ concerns was simply to deal with them head on. Kid wasn’t backing off in any case.

 

“What is it?” Maka asked politely, not wanting to let her irritation seep into her voice when he was only worried, only trying to be a good friend.

 

“I just wanted to apologize for my father’s recent actions,” he said, his golden eyes fixed on her, his face solemn. “I fear he has made the wrong choice, and I am sorry that you and Soul are suffering for it.”

 

“It’s fine, Kid. Really,” she said, trying not to pull at her skirt in her nervousness because she hated lying and had never been very good at it. “Once Soul became a Deathscythe, it was inevitable that we’d be separated. We always knew it, and we--”

 

He raised a hand, causing her to pause. “While watching my friends suffer needlessly is one concern, it is not my only issue. I walked in on one of my father’s training sessions with Soul, and when I viewed it through my soul perception--well, what I saw of your weapon’s soul was concerning, to say the least. I do not think his partnership with my father is wise with the Black Blood still in his system, and I fear what will happen if Father pushes him too far.”

 

Frowning, Maka shook her head. “But we beat the Blood,  he beat the Blood. It’s been fine since we fought Asura. He doesn’t even have nightmares anymore! How--”

 

“Because Soul is rejecting Father’s attempts at resonance, and Father is pushing his soul at him repeatedly. That much power flowing towards a weapon, even a Deathscythe, is overwhelming. It’s creating gaps for the Blood, the madness, to boil and seep through the fissures left behind. This cannot continue, and I fear for my father  and your weapon if it does.”

 

“Should we--should we try talking to Lord Death?” Maka asked quietly, stunned, worry and raw  fear sitting like a stone in her belly. 

 

“I tried,” Kid shook his head. “He wouldn’t listen. But I’m hoping that if I can show him the danger, he will. That’s why I’ve been reading through what’s left of Medusa’s research in the restricted section. I would also like to speak with Crona and Ragnarok and get their assessment, but they aren’t due back from their mission until tomorrow.”

 

“What can I do?” Maka said firmly, and it was less a question than a command--she  would do something, anything, to help him. Maybe Soul wasn’t her weapon anymore, but he would always be her soulmate, and she’d be damned if she sat by idly as both her god and her--her--Soul were taken by the Black Blood because the Deathgod refused to listen.

 

“Well,” Kid said, pulling out a few books from his own satchel. “I could use help with the research.”

 

“Done. Give me until the end of school--I’ll tell you what I find.”

 

Kid nodded. “Very well, I’ll speak with you after Stein’s class. Thank you, Maka. And again--I am sorry.” His eyes were full of concern, regret, and the barest hint of anger as he walked away, and Maka clutched the books he had handed her tightly, noting with worry that the direction he was headed was opposite the library--but would take him straight to the Death Room.

 

 

* * *

 

He really wasn’t sure how much longer he could do this; he felt rubbed raw, sore and weak and sick, and it was all on the inside, all in his bruised and battered soul. Was quitting an option? Could he just--just  leave ? Throw in the towel and--shit, do what? Go crawling back to his damned family on hands and knees and beg them to take him back and let him play the entire Joseph Haydn canon for the rest of his born days? The very thought made him shudder in revulsion, but this was--this was the deepest hell, a place without meister or friends, a place where his only companion was the very god trying to shove his way into his soul, tearing it apart in the process. 

 

Soul needed to get out of here.

 

Panting in the corner where Death had let him rest for a moment, the young Deathscythe lifted his head to the sound of footsteps and silently praised whoever had decided to interrupt their training.

 

He had expected a teacher--Stein or Sid or Marie. What he hadn’t expected was both Stein  and Sid, holding the chains of a third man between them. A massive hulk of a man. A man who had almost killed both him and Maka several years back. A man who was not a man at all but an immortal werewolf.

 

“What the fuck?” Soul hissed, but Death paid him no mind, instead waiting silently for the odd trio to finish their trek into the room and stand before him.

 

“Well, hello hello there,” Death greeted happily. “I see we have a guest. Care to explain?”

 

“He showed up on the front steps, just strolled up and declared surrender,” Sid said with a frown. “Said he needed to talk to Lord Death and only Lord Death, and that it was urgent. Stein--” he cast a less than thrilled glance at the man on the other side of their captive “--insisted that the cuffs would adequately contain him and we should take him to you, so here we are.”

 

“Very well!” The Reaper clapped his hands together. “Free, was it? Why don’t you tell us why you’re here.”

 

“Because Eruka is going to come for Brew, and I mean to help you stop her,” he said evenly, brown eyes fixed on Lord Death. Soul stared at the No Future tattoo above the large werewolf’s eye and couldn’t help but to feel like it was speaking to him personally.

 

“I--seeee,” Death nodded, voice still deceptively cheerful. “And it is your position that we should simply believe you and--what--offer you freedom to roam our hallowed halls at your whim?

 

Free sighed, made to move his hand to do--something--found it was restrained, sighed again, and shrugged. “Not really. Keep me in jail if you want until she comes, I don’t care. All I ask is that when she does come, and she  will come, you let me help. This isn’t her, not really, and I don’t want anything to--” he sighed again “--look, honestly, I’m pretty sure it’s one of those snakes Medusa left in her. Somehow it--changed her--and suddenly it’s like she’s more Medusa than Eruka and I just want Eruka back and safe. I’ll help you stop her if you’ll promise not to hurt her.”

 

Death looked at the man before him pleading for the life of someone he clearly cared for and tilted his head as if in thought, humming lightly. “Mmmmm--and how are we to know this isn’t a ploy to get you inside? No, I don't think we'll be needing your help. If this witch Eruka means to take Brew as you say, well, should she be foolish enough to show her face in  my  Academy, she’ll have  me to deal with--and I do not show mercy to witches. Now that that’s settled, Sid, Stein why don’t you--”

 

There were pounding footsteps as Death the Kid appeared just behind the pair, panting. 

 

“Wait, Father, you can’t just do that. Why would he attack now when he’s stayed far clear for years, he and Eruka both? I think it makes sense to listen, to look into it, and if it comes true to--”

 

“Enough!” And for the second time in recent memory, Lord Death stood taller, his voice low and angry, the room darkening with his fury for but a moment before it brightened again. “I know you want to help, Kiddo, but this man is not to be trusted, and in any case, we don’t even know that this Eruka will come, so--”

 

“Actually,” Stein interrupted, sounding just a touch too amused. Of  course he was, the bastard. “I’m pretty sure she’s here, in the basement, on her way to Brew as we stand here chatting. Unless there’s  another witch in the basement, which is possible but unlikely,” he smirked, turning his screw idly.

 

“In that case,” Death looked at Stein, then back at Soul still standing off by the mirror. Shit.  Shit.  “Death Scythe, I need you.” Suppressing a groan, the Deathscythe transformed into Death’s waiting hand, fear icing over his entire being. This couldn’t be good. Death shifted his gaze back to the Professor. “Looks like it’s time to test that theory of yours,” he said cheerfully, and suddenly, Soul was drowning.

 

He couldn’t think, he couldn’t breathe as all that was him was being shoved aside by a presence so foreign he could only shrink. He was dying. He had to be dying. He wanted to fucking die to end this horror. And then he felt a rush of exhilaration in his veins, of sheer unbridled insanity, felt the mad cackle bubbling in his throat, heard an echoing cackle from the one who wielded him, and before he could scream his terror, his world went black.

 

 

* * *

 

She’d felt it even from across the Academy--felt it, used her soul perception, and found utter chaos. In the Death Room, she’d sensed her Deathscythe’s soul, cracked and drowning in Black Blood, had sensed the soul of their god was drowning as well, the madness rushing in sickening waves. But she’d also sensed a witch’s soul underneath the school, pulsing with power and madness itself, Black Blood similarly evident. 

 

Maka had run into her father soon after, taking him up and needing to do something--to help. She knew the witch was a threat, but her weapon--she had to save her weapon! Then Stein and Kid were rushing at her and she could feel the power rushing after them, and facing her weapon became her only option. 

 

Stein grabbed her arm, tugging her along while motioning for Kid to take a different bend in the hall and yelling out, “Training forest, go!” He pulled her into an empty classroom, and she blinked up at him, questioning. She noticed that Marie was in his hand so he couldn’t want her Papa--what--?

 

“There’s not much time.” He sounded far calmer than his labored breathing suggested he should be. “Lord Death attempted to resonate with Soul to--well, unforeseen ends,” he said flatly. “They have both been consumed by the Black Blood, and I think you may be the only one who can get through to them.”

 

“How?” she asked, willing to do anything it took to see Soul safe.

 

“Your link to your ex-weapon is still strong. You can push into their resonance, and with your anti-demon wavelength present, the Black Blood should be suppressed, and they can both come to themselves again.”

 

“And if they don’t?” Maka asked, unsure, because in truth, even with her grigori soul and its anti-demon properties, she herself had been consumed by the Black Blood before, though she had done so willingly--willfully.

 

“Let’s hope we don’t find out,” he said, and coming from Stein of all people, she couldn’t help the sliver of terror that spiked through her heart. 

 

Her father flashed on the blade of the weapon she held just then, face uncharacteristically serious. It was his game face, his battle face, one she herself had seen only rarely. “You don’t have to do this, Sweetie. Stein has Marie. We can face the witch, and they can--”

 

“No, I  have to do this, Papa.” She knew what he was doing. Maka and her father were resonating, and her fear for her long time partner, for what she would find, was running through the back of her mind in rising waves. “I have to.” It was  Soul . There was no other choice. 

 

Her father’s image nodded solemnly from where it reflected on the blade. “I understand,” he said with the lightest of sighs, his soul sending some ill fated attempt at comfort her way that only had her longing for her lost weapon, and then they were all running through the Academy, running to the training forest towards the heart of darkness.

 

They arrived all too soon, to gunfire and flashes of energy and shouting. Kid had Liz and Patti with him, though whether he’d had them when he ran by or had picked them up along the way Maka wasn’t sure, and he was zipping through the air on Beelzebub as his Father flew near him, Soul in his hands, both laughing. 

 

“Father, you must stop. You can conquer this, but you must--”

 

Death’s move to slash him with Soul cut him off, and Kid flew down to where Maka and Stein stood, weapons in hand.

 

“It’s hopeless,” he said, panting, eying the approaching Deathgod warily. “He’s--”

 

“We have a plan,” Stein cut him off. “Keep fighting. Distract him. Maka, you know what to do--”

 

Before she could nod her understanding, they were all scrambling back to avoid a Witch-Hunt attack. 

 

“Awwwww!” Lord Death’s mad cackle filled the clearing they stood in. “I missed!” 

 

Stein didn’t hesitate, rushing at him with Marie, the movements of both so quick it was nearly blinding. Kid periodically zipped through to shoot, though Maka could see how hesitant he was to strike his own father. 

 

Moving back behind a tree for cover, Maka closed her eyes, focusing on her soul and then seeking that of her weapon. It was close. Far, far too close. 

 

Her eyes flew open, and she dodged his blade just in time, crouching only several feet away from her god as he looked down at her,  her scythe in his hands.

 

“Aw, missed again!” he singsonged. “Maybe third time's a charm!” he said with a laugh, but Soul’s image flashed in the blade, smile crazed in a way that made her shiver. 

 

“No, I don’t think so,” he said, his deep rumbling voice both familiar and foreign. It had been so long--too long. “She’s  mine . Get me?” There was a flash of light as Soul transformed out of his hands, and Death shrugged.

 

“Weeeellll then~! I’ll leave you two to plaaaaay!” The Deathgod flew off, and Maka stared, dumbfounded for a moment before shifting her eyes to her weapon. 

 

He was standing before her in his Black Blood suit, red eyes boring into her own.

 

“Hello Ma-ka,” he said too casually, emphasis placed oddly on the last syllable of her name. He stepped towards her, only a few feet away, grin wide and wicked. “Been hopin’ you’d show up. Wanna play?” He was too close now, not a foot away, and edging yet closer, so she took a step back, needing space, needing to think , shifting Spirit in her hands to place his haft between her and the mad scythe who taunted her .

 

“Maka, sweetie, you’re going to have to--” Her father’s voice was calm, so calm, but all she could hear, all she could see, was her lost weapon.

 

“Soul,” she breathed, her heart in her throat. “This isn’t--this isn’t you . But I’m going to help you, I promise, and it’ll all be okay, it’ll all be fine, but I need you to--”

 

“Need me to what, Ma-ka?” He was near again, his eyes so dark, so intense she felt naked before him, helpless. He was just so--so-- there  after so long that it was unnerving, though she knew she should probably push him away and do  something.

 

“You know I’d do  anything  for my meister.” His smile was little short of sultry as he edged within inches of her, making her whole body feel overwrought with his sheer  nearness.

 

She scrambled away, back hitting a tree, heart pounding in her chest. Her arms flew out to steady herself, her Papa clutched in one hand tightly as she tried to regain her bearings.

 

“I--” she stammered, shaking her head. She should try to--what? Hurt  him? Her weapon? Her best friend? Her  Soul ? She wouldn’t-- couldn’t.

 

“Makaaaa!” he sang out. “I’ve miiissed you~! Missed all of you,” he looked her up and down, and the heat of his gaze had her shivering again. “Every bit--every  inch . Have you missed me?” He was close again, so close. She swallowed and nodded as he got even closer to whisper in her ear, breath hot. This was dangerous. This was stupid.

 

But this--this was  Soul.

 

“Have you missed every  inch ?” 

 

She flushed deeply, something about how husky his voice was in her ear making her go hot. 

 

Her father was saying something, something about Soul getting his filthy paws off his precious baby, but Maka couldn’t think, couldn’t even breathe with him so achingly near. She’d missed him so much,  so much , and he was  right there , and all she wanted to do was throw her arms around him and hold him tight and never, never let go. And yet, he wasn’t himself, she knew he wasn’t himself, she knew she had to push him away or--better--to--to--

 

Focus focus  focus . Resonance. She needed to--

 

“Maka--wa--” her father shouted, voice at her side and in her head through their link. 

 

She saw a flash, but all she could feel was her weapon’s breath as his lips brushed her cheek, as her soul tumbled into his unbidden, as her world went black black black , the Blood overwhelming her, the madness too much so unprepared.

 

And then she laughed, wildly, gleefully, her weapon warm as he transformed into her waiting hands at last, her father cackling at her side, and for a time, she knew no more.

 

 

* * *

 

When Maka appeared before him in the Black Room, brushing aside the curtains airily, the madness thrumming between them was palpable--rich and tangy and heady.

 

It was liberating. He could do as he pleased.  They could do as they pleased.

 

She was here--right here-- right here \--and Soul’s mind was fuzzy and hazy and warm, and she looked so damned good in that dress. It wasn’t like it used to be, with the gauzy fabric that had covered her arms and shoulders, but more mature, strapless, clinging to her lithe frame in ways that had his head spinning. 

 

There was no thought, it was lost to him, only gravity and need and action as Maka quickly stepped over and fell into him, melted against him, hands flying to tangle in his hair as their lips met eagerly, desperately, his own hands pulling at her hips, closer, closer, please,  please . 

 

Somewhere else, they danced, a woman and her scythe, wicked and deadly as they sliced and wrought havoc with every step, every stroke, the fear and anger and shouts around them exquisite music they made together. But here, there was only  her  and  her  and  her again, lips warm, the feeling of them on his own all he wanted, overwhelming, maddening, her soul pulsing through him, his soul pulsing through her, close in the way he’d missed since he’d become a Deathscythe, close in a way he’d missed all his life, in a way they never had been and he would always want to be. 

 

It felt good, their dance of death, the way they moved together as one in another time, another place, destruction their calling card, mad laughter on their lips. It felt good, Maka’s soul, as it washed over him, bathing him in its light even as their kiss deepened, tongues sliding together deliciously. This was them. This was forever. This was--

 

His head felt clearer, so much clearer, as the light of her soul filled the cracks in his own, as he felt whole for the first time since they’d parted. 

 

And Soul realized, with aching clarity, that he was kissing Maka-- Maka- -and she was kissing back, but it was wrong wrong  wrong because the Blood--the  Blood \--

 

They pulled apart at the same instant, her mouth forming into a shocked little 'o' as she stepped back and brought a hand up to touch her lips, eyes wide. She was scarlet and beautiful and he was pretty sure he was just as red, but he still wished he could kiss her again, stupid as it was.

 

“I’m--” she began.

 

“Sorry,” he said at the same time, shaking his head. “I--”

 

“No,” Maka cut him off. “It was me, I shouldn't have--”

 

“It was the Blood,” he insisted. 

 

“Oh, yeah, of course.” She looked down at her hands, sheepish. “The Blood.”

 

“It just--it amplified things, I guess, how much I missed you, how much I--” he shook his head “--anyway--”

 

“I missed you, too!” she blurted out, eyes back on his, searching. “I really, really missed you and--and--I--even though it was the Blood, it was--it was  nice .” The red of her skin deepened, so bright it might have matched his eyes.

 

“Oh--oh--yeah--yeah! It--yeah,” he was nodding his vigorous agreement, words clumsy on his tongue.

 

“So we should--maybe--talk later?” Maka looked hopeful, the smallest smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

 

His nodding continued. “Yes--yes, we should. I missed you so damned much, and--” Soul took a step towards her, but she cut him off.

 

“But for now,  we should probably try to get out of here. Because I’m preeeetty sure we're making real problems for our friends out in the real world, and I’d really rather  not try to lick anyone like last time if it can be helped.”

 

“Fucking Oni,” Soul shook his head, the name venom on his tongue. “That little asshole is  so dead  when I find him.”

 

“Really, now?” It was a familiar voice, too loud and echoing.  Fuck . Soul swiveled his head, searching, and found shoes, shiny and dark, at the far edge of the room. Enormous shoes. Shoes as tall as he was. He moved his eyes up, and the ceiling seemed to have quadrupled as he finally found the giant red visage he sought near its end.  Double fuck.

 

“Asshole, maybe, but not so little,” the demon chuckled. “This is my  room now, and I mean to make myself at home. Well, after I redecorate up top, anyway. You two are doing quite the number in that forest. It really is a sight to behold.”

 

“You’re done here,” Maka appeared at her weapon’s side, grabbing his hand to clasp it warmly as they both faced down the manifestation of his fears, his madness, his darkest impulses writ large. 

 

“I think not,” the thing said with a shake of the head. “You see, I clearly have the upper hand--your god was so kind as to gift me with it--and I’m really not done playing with the two of you, not to mention the Grim Reaper and daddy dearest. So if--”

 

“Soul,” Maka squeezed his hand, and the tone, the command, made the implications clear. He transformed and, their resonance strong, she called up the Kishin Hunt Blade within his soul, aiming its purifying power at the Oni in a wicked arc.

 

There was heat and light and then, Oni stood blinking at the both of them from several feet away, only a few feet tall and quite singed.

 

“Well, then,” he coughed. “I’ll just be--going.”

 

And before they could do more than blink, he was gone, fading back into the curtains and away.

 

Soul transformed and took a step towards where he had been, knowing the little fucker was still hiding somewhere in his soul, but Maka put a restraining hand on his shoulder. 

 

“Let him be--we need to get out of here, and now, we  can. ” 

 

“Oh, yeah,” he said, shaking his head. “Then I guess--let’s go.”

 

And a blink later, they did, the Black Room shifting and fading as they returned to the chaos of reality.

 

 

* * *

  
  


Regaining awareness in the middle of swinging Soul’s Witch-Hunt blade, surrounded by thick forest, black dress fading back into her school uniform, Maka felt completely disoriented as she pulled her attack back just in time to avoid hitting Stein and Marie.

 

She landed on the ground and looked to Stein, who was grinning at her widely.

 

“Ah, Miss Albarn, Death Scythe. I see you’ve both returned to the land of the mostly sane.”

 

“Where’s my Papa--where’s Lord Death--what--”

 

There was a loud crash somewhere in the distance that suggested the answer to that, but Maka needed confirmation. 

 

Stein raised a hand. “You have questions--so do I--but from what I can surmise, when you began to resonate with Soul, you were already in resonance with your father, and both of you were pulled into the madness of the Black Blood. I see you were finally able to use your anti-demon wavelength to subdue it--excellent. Now we will need to handle Lord Death and Spirit,” he finished, looking between them, a cigarette dangling between his lips. How he’d found time to light a cigarette of all things in the middle of this chaos Maka would never know, but she was given no time to process any of it as Soul transformed in a flash of light to stand beside her, Black Blood pinstripes replaced with everyday leather and jeans, face set in a deep scowl. 

 

“Fuck no is Maka gonna try to resonate with Mr. Skullhead, I--”

 

Before he could finish, Marie transformed as well, looking concerned, and Stein raised a placating hand as he glanced briefly at the slightly protruding belly of his weapon with a frown before shifting his eyes to Soul.

 

“Resonating with Lord Death isn’t an option--Maka was only able to resonate with you because of your close bond,” he said, tone flat. “I  had hoped that Maka’s soul would purify the Black Blood, but when you all went into resonance, the long time partners were drawn together, and you two resonated alone, cutting the resonance with Spirit and Lord Death, who went into resonance together. Or at least, that seems to be what occurred.” 

 

“So shouldn’t Papa and Lord Death be okay then, since they aren’t resonating with Soul, so the Black Blood--”

 

Another crash, followed by the loud blast of Kid's Death Cannon put the lie to that false hope.

 

“Ah, but the Black Blood was already flowing through Death--you regaining your sanity thus had no effect.” He sounded almost happy with that, and Maka clenched her fist, her irritation mounting. She respected Stein, liked him well, but sometimes he could be a callow ass. 

 

Marie sighed beside Stein, her one visible eye shining with concern. “We’ll get them back, don’t worry,” she said with a soft smile. “Professor Stein has a plan, don’t you, Professor?”

 

“Yes, well, I was getting to that,” he said sardonically, twisting the screw in his head in clear irritation. "We need to perform group resonance--the four of us, along with Kid and his weapons. It should be feasible with Soul guiding the group through his music, and once we are resonating, Kid will launch his Death Cannon to pin them down, and we will perform anti-demon attacks immediately after. Between Marie's healing properties and Maka’s grigori soul, I believe the Blood will be purged, and both your father and Lord Death will come to their senses."

 

"And if they don’t?" she asked, not for the first time that day. 

 

The Professor shrugged, taking a long drag of his cigarette. "Then we're all pretty well screwed. Let's hope it doesn't come to that, shall we?"

 

"Then let's just make sure this doesn't fail," she said, mustering up every last ounce of her courage to turn a triumphant smile towards her weapon. "You ready?" she asked, holding out her hand and quickly finding his, warm and near as it grasped her own.

 

"With you? Always," he grinned back then transformed, feeling good and right in her grip in a way she'd desperately missed.

 

"Kid knows the plan?" she turned to Stein, who nodded and tossed his cigarette away with a flick. 

 

"He does. Shall we?" He held out a hand to Marie, who nodded solemnly before transforming into his hand.

 

"Alright--let's do this!" Maka shouted, and then they were all running through the woods, looking for the source of the commotion. 

 

Between two meisters with well-honed senses and advanced soul perception, it wasn't long before they found it, bursting into a clearing where Kid was facing off with his father, the younger Reaper panting as he flipped back to avoid his father’s Witch-Hunt blade.

 

"'Bout freakin’ time!" Patti's metallic voice rang out over the clearing. 

 

Maka ignored the outburst, instead calling out to Kid, "Ready?"

 

An almost imperceptible nod was the answer she got as he avoided another attack, but Patti's shout of "Hells yeah!" emphasized his agreement, and she started resonance with her weapon. The rush of his soul was warm and wonderful, and she allowed herself to bask in it for the barest instant before reaching out with her soul for Kid and Stein, guided by the scythe's playing as his music began to pulse through them all. Bolstered by the threads the Deathscythe must have gained by consuming Arachne’s soul, it was the most stable, powerful group resonance she'd ever known.

 

Feeling the collective power flow through her, Maka called up the Kishin Hunt-blade and waited for the moment to strike, her weapon’s soul light and bright as it thrummed through her own, bolstering her.

 

It was utter chaos, but her link to the others helped them to coordinate their attacks, striking and dodging, moving in and falling back, the blur of action as they all darted through the trees dizzying. They herded both the Deathgod and Deathscythe into the largest forest clearing, needing space for their attack. 

 

As they finally fought their way into the center of the clearing, Maka knew it was time. 

 

Tensed, ready, the scythe meister waited until the Death Cannon fired and, as she saw Lord Death charging towards her, her Papa in hand, she didn't hesitate--she attacked--hoping beyond hope that this would work, that they would both survive sane and whole.

 

The light from her Kishin Hunt-slash combined with Stein's attack was blinding, and for several anxious, breathless moments, Maka’s heart froze, fearing what she would find when her vision cleared. 

 

As the light subsided, she scanned the clearing anxiously and let out a shaky breath as she caught sight of Lord Death lying crumpled on the scarred and craggy ground, his weapon sprawled out beside him in human form.

 

Maka couldn't help it; upon seeing her Papa so battered, so still, she started to weep.

 

 

* * *

 

There was no time to do more than confirm that both Lord Death and Spirit were still alive and that their souls appeared cleansed of the Black Blood before those left standing were rushing away, rushing towards the witch whose soul Kid, Maka, and Stein could still sense deep within the bowels of the school. 

 

Soul could feel his meister’s guilt and concern for her father through their link and wanted to comfort her in some way, any way, but there was no time; all he could do was attempt to soothe her soul through their resonance and hope it helped.

 

For Kid, who looked distraught, lost, he could do nothing, but the Reaper had his own weapons to see him through.

 

As the moved to the forest edge, Ox and Harvar came rushing at them, Kim and Jackie at their heels, all of them out of breath. They were here to help, they insisted; Sid had run into Jackie, asked her to gather the rest, and they were all here to help.

 

“Little fucking late to the party,” Soul grumbled unhappily, though only Ox seemed angered by the statement. Kim and Jackie were too focused on Stein, and Harvar offered an unapologetic little shrug, the bastard.

 

Stein was busy fiddling with his screw in thought, but soon enough turned his attention to Jackie and Kim. “Lord Death and Spirit are injured in the largest clearing in the training forest. Go find them and tend to them, get some NOT students to help bring them back to the infirmary, if you can.”

 

“But--” Kim stammered, shaking her head.

 

“You two,” he snapped at Ox and Harvar. “Are with us.”

 

Lightning spear and meister exchanged a loaded glance that Soul couldn’t even begin to decode before Harvar transformed into Ox’s waiting hands, but didn’t hesitate to follow as they all sped through the halls of the Academy and then down into the lower levels, leaving the lantern meister and her weapon quickly behind.

 

It took what seemed like ages but was probably mere minutes to race their way down to the large artifact room where Brew was stored, and they rushed in prepared for the fight, prepared for anything, only to be met with--

 

\-- laughter ?

 

They came to an abrupt halt as they found a gathering in the center of the rather trashed storage room for Magical Tools. Black*Star was perched atop a gargoyle, gesticulating wildly, while others stood around shaking their heads or talking amongst themselves. 

 

Eruka, for Soul recognized the white haired woman standing off to the side from the first time she’d infiltrated the bowels of Shibusen, stood dwarfed in the arms of the oversized Werewolf as he bent down to kiss her. The scythe turned his gaze away, face heating, heartily glad he was in weapon form where his reactions were invisible to all; he reaaaallly didn’t need to witness the PDA of their sometime enemies, especially when he’d much rather be attempting the same thing with his meister if she’d let him.

 

If what had happened in the Black Room was any indication, he was pretty sure she’d let him, and he had to stifle a whoop of triumph because he really,  really wanted her to let him. 

 

He was also glad that their resonance was turned down too low for thoughts to slip through, though based on the feelings slipping through her end, her thoughts may have been in a similar place, and he was eager to find out just  how  similar.

 

Unfortunately, he thought as he transformed to stand near his meister, there were other things to see to first, like just what the everliving fuck was going on down here?

 

“So the losers finally arrive!” a familiar voice bellowed, and Soul couldn’t help his nearly Pavlovian eyeroll, so ingrained was the reflex. “‘Bout fuckin’ time--you peons are late! ”

 

“We had our own problems,” Soul groused, shoving his hands in his pockets as Stein cleared his throat.

 

“Yes, well, as glad as I’m sure we all are to see that things here have ended well, I do believe an explanation is in order,” the Professor said, tone deceptively bored. 

 

Sid moved forward then from where he’d been talking to Nygus and Mifune near a pillar.

 

The presence of the swordsman was a surprise; he’d been off for the last two weeks on a final assessment mission for--Soul scanned his eyes around the room--and yes, there was Crona, also back and looking characteristically nervous as they stood near Tsubaki, the Dark Arm’s hand patting the Swordmeister’s shoulder soothingly. 

 

Approaching Stein, Sid nodded his greeting, eying the group around the other meister with interest before returning his eerily empty gaze to the Professor. “So, as it turns out--”

 

“I kicked some assssss!” Black*Star whooped before flipping down to land next to Sid. 

 

Sid gave the boy he had helped to raise a withering look, but Black*Star, being Black*Star, either didn’t see or didn’t care as he continued to blather.

 

“It was like this. We’re all finishing lunch in the caf when Sid busts in with the fucking Immortal Werewolf, if you can buy that crap--”

 

“--oh yeah, it was the  shit! ” Patti burst out from near Kid. “Like, all the NOT kids were screaming and running in a million directions, and Sid looked at the senior EAT kids all serious like, ‘Kid, please go to the Death Room with your weapons, the rest of you need to come with me’ -- and everyone was soooooo confused, but then--”

 

“--but then, your god knew what the fuck to do, unlike his filthy peons who can’t shut the hell up, and so I led my loyal followers down to the basement, and we all tried to find this witch who was wreckin’ shit, right?” The blue haired assassin's gaze panned meaningfully to Eruka, who was quietly holding Free’s hand, her gaze proud, nearly haughty. “Like we thought it might be hard without any of you nerds with that soul radar shit around, but nah son, she wasn’t fuckin’ subtle, and she was right in the damned artifact room where they keep Brew like wolf boy said she would be, so we find her easy, but wolf guy is just--wait, assholes, we need a plan--you hurt her, I’ll fuck you up--”

 

Free looked affronted as he stepped forward, tugging Eruka with him. “That is  not what I said, boy.” His eyes were on Star, head shaking in irritation. “What I  said  was--”

 

“Anywayz,” Black*Star cut him off with an eyeroll. “The point is, furry over there didn’t want us to hurt his booty call, so we had to figure shit out. Which--”

 

“You assholes were damned lucky we showed up and saved your damned bacon, ‘cause your plan was fuckin’ pathetic,” Ragnorok burst from Crona’s back to growl out, and while Crona grimaced, Patti began to laugh wildly. 

 

“Okay, yeah, you jerks came up with a good plan, gold star, awesome, but I was the one--” the ninja said with a thump to the chest.

 

The whole thing was giving Soul a pounding headache, and he was grateful when Sid put a hand on the blue haired loudmouth’s shoulder, effectively cutting him off, then looked at the group.

 

“Yes, Mifune returned with Crona and Ragnarok as we were attempting to execute the original plan--which involved trying to weaken the witch--”

 

“Her name is Eruka,” Free growled out, and Sid merely shrugged.

 

“It wasn’t enough. With the addition of Black Blood-- Eruka, ” he flicked his gaze to the Werewolf, “was strong, and we had no way to isolate what was controlling her in any case.”

 

“ Controlling her?” Maka spoke up, and when Soul glanced her way, he saw her brow was furrowed in thought.

 

“She was a fuckin’ tool,” Black*Star put in. “Like, she was fuckin’  off her rocker, but also spoutin’ shit like she was Medusa and gonna come back and fuck us all up, whatever. Crazy bitch, seriously.”

 

“Anyway,” Sid frowned at Star, then moved his eyes back to the group at large. “That’s where Crona and Ragnorok came in. They, along with Mifune, had returned early, and when they were on their way to the Death Room to report, caught sight of us going down to deal with Eruka,” he said her name with the same distaste he’d shown the first time. “They caught up with us several minutes into the battle, but even then, it was clear we weren’t getting anywhere, and that’s when Crona spoke up.”

 

Sid looked meaningfully at Crona, who shook their head. “I--I mean I--” They looked helplessly around, gaze settling on Mifune. “Could you?”

 

Mifune nodded, smiling reassuringly, then stepped forward to address the group. “Crona felt the Black Blood within Eruka. It was carried by the snake that had long lain dormant inside of her, a small piece of Medusa’s soul. Something must have activated it, and somehow that small part of Medusa still left in the world was able to take control of Eruka, but it was even more twisted than the original, crazed by the Blood. She planned to use Brew to resurrect the snake witch completely, so she told us openly as she fought, but as the original carrier, Crona believed they could seize some control of the Bloof and force the snake out if Eruka was distracted enough.”

 

“Clearly, this plan proved successful,” Stein spoke up, voice as sardonic as ever.

 

“Damn right, we kicked ASS!” Black*Star shouted with a fist pump. “While I distracted Crazy with my complete godliness, Crona did their thing, and then--boom--Ms. Slithery Slimy came out of her fucking  mouth !”

 

Liz gasped at that, horrified, while Patti giggled. 

 

Looking around warily, Maka asked, “What happened to the snake?”

 

“Actuaaaaallly,” Killik stepped forward, his weapons clinging to his legs on either side of him. “I just sort of--stepped on it--and it puffed up into smoke.”

 

“That--was it?” Kid looked skeptical. 

 

Killik shrugged.

 

“Without a host, such a fragmented soul entity would have little power to survive on its own,” Stein put in, turning his screw once. “Likely, it would have disintegrated soon enough, with or without your timely--intervention.”

 

“Eruka suggested the same,” Nygus finally spoke up with a nod. “So that’s basically what happened, and now we just need to clean up this mess and figure out what to do with those two,” she thumbed towards Free and Eruka.

 

Sid leveled his gaze on the Professor. “What happened on your end?”

 

“That, I think, is a matter best filled in on the way. For now, I believe it best we get to the infirmary--” Stein’s eyes went hazy for the barest instant “--make that the Death Room. The sooner we deal with our--” his eyes moved to the werewolf and witch “-- guests, the better. You two aren’t going to give us any trouble, are you?” He looked between them sharply.

 

“No.” Eruka shook her head nervously, looking up at Free as he squeezed her shoulder.

 

“Not unless you all give us trouble first,” the werewolf corrected. 

 

“No one will bother you if you bother no one,” Kid spoke up. “You have my word.”

 

“Then let’s hope, for all our sakes, there are no further issues,” Stein said with a less than reassuring grin.

 

For his part, Soul really fucking hoped so, too--he’d had about as many issues for one week as he could stomach. Hell, he’d probably had his fill for the year.

 

Their course settled, the odd group made their way back through the depths of the school to the Death Room.

 

 

* * *

 

Soul and Maka entered the Death Room again hand in hand and it felt good, it felt right, but she knew it couldn’t last. Soul wasn’t her partner anymore, and she could sense their Shingami’s soul up ahead, alive and well. She might have entered with her reclaimed weapon, but she would be leaving alone, and it  hurt.

 

Before she could consider more, consider what had happened in the Black Room and what that might mean, they came to a halt where Lord Death was standing before his mirror, looking battered but whole, Spirit next to him with his arm in a sling looking only a bit worse for the wear. 

 

They were both alive and, seemingly, largely well. Maka could have hugged her Papa, but instead stayed her ground to hear her god. The same god she was furious with. The same god who had forced his soul through her weapon and nearly ended them all.

 

“Ah, hello to you all!” he said with his accustomed cheer as his ageless mask scanned the rather crowded space. “I see you have all come out of this both successful and largely unscathed--excellent work! Now, then, Marie, Stein, Nygus, Sid, Mifune--if you would care to fill me in on some details, we can wrap things up here so that everyone can get some well earned rest--if you would?” 

 

The ones named, all teachers, approached the dais, speaking quietly with the Shinigami for several minutes while the rest of them looked on uncomfortably. Maka took a moment to scan their souls and was unsurprised at what she found--Lord Death as mysterious and difficult to read as ever, Spirit proud, Stein intrigued, Marie placid and concerned, Sid and Nygus both aggravated, Free and Eruka on edge, Black*Star preening, Tsubaki placating, Crona worried and a little proud, Ragnarok starving, Liz nervous and bored, Patti plotting something (she was usually plotting something,) and Kid confused, hurt, and absolutely  fuming .

 

The last surprised her a bit, but given what had happened, it really shouldn’t have.

 

Feeling her weapon squeeze her hand, Maka looked at him and saw his nervousness and something like fear behind his bored mask, so she squeezed back and offered a small smile, attempting to reassure him though she was far from reassured herself. She wasn’t sure she could take losing him a second time.

 

Finally, thankfully, the group at the dais scattered into the crowd, and Death remained in front of the mirror, Spirit still firmly at his side.

 

Gaze sweeping the crowd, Lord Death addressed them all. “It seems you all fought well and bravely, and that our--guests--” he fixed his mask on Free and Eruka, still hand in hand, “have comported themselves well. As such, those guests are free to go with our blessing and thanks--Mifune will see you out.” 

 

The posture of both witch and werewolf relaxed visibly as they shared a glance, then went to follow the Swordsman out, both offering a nod of thanks to Crona on the way that the Demonsword meister shyly returned. 

 

Kid also visibly relaxed the slightest bit, Maka noticed, though she could still sense his ire.

 

Once the visitors had left the room, Death cleared his throat. “As for the rest of you, classes are dismissed for the rest of the day--announcements will be made, though most of the school has already been evacuated, and as you have all passed this little test, and with flying colors I might add, you are excused from the rest of your exams and will be granted the highest marks for all of those that remain, congratulations!”

 

There was a whoop from Black*Star, Liz, Patti, and Kilik, but Maka groaned along with Ox--she’d studied hard for those exams and she wanted to earn the top mark! 

 

Still, she reminded herself as Soul squeezed her hand again, grounding her, there were more important things.

 

Death cleared his throat again and held up a hand to silence the commotion. “As for anything else, this test has also shown me that I may have been--erm--hasty in changing the status quo so quickly, that there is something to be said for the strength of long standing partnerships. As such, I have decided to reinstate Spirit here as Death Scythe.” Spirit beamed beside him, clearly pleased with this decision, and Death swiveled his empty gaze to Soul. “And Soul Eater, while I thank you for your efforts these past weeks, I fear you are simply best suited to working with your original meister--I expect great things from you both!” He clapped his hands together for emphasis.

 

“Th--thank you, Lord Death,” Maka stammered, too happy, too relieved to hold her anger any longer. She and Soul were going to be partners again, were going to remain partners. He was squeezing her hand so tightly it was almost painful and she turned her head to beam at him, the urge to just fling herself at him and kiss him strong. But no, she couldn’t, not here, not now, so she just--kept grinning.

 

“Ah, anyway,” Death continued. “That would seem to be that, so you are all dismissed~!” he sang out, and Maka didn’t hesitate, but led her weapon from the room, heedless of the crowd, heedless of their collectively lingering anger and confusion, heedless of Kid’s own slowly dissipating anger she could sense in passing, heedless of anything. She didn’t even have to tug--Soul was right there with her, by her side, just like he’d always been. 

 

Just like she always wanted him to be.

 

Maka led him to the balcony, the same one they’d stood at after he’d become a Deathscythe--after their partnership had been dissolved. Now it was made anew and she couldn’t stop smiling as she stopped at the edge and turned to him.

 

“Hey,” she said, suddenly shy because, as eager as she'd been to have him to herself, so much had happened that she wasn’t sure how they were supposed to act now, especially not after everything that had happened in the Black Room.

 

“Hey,” Soul smiled at her softly, fondly, hand still firmly in hers. 

 

“Looks like you’re my weapon again.” She managed not to fidget.

 

“Thank fucking Death,” he said vehemently, and she laughed, though it wasn’t funny. He had been through so much, they both had, but now it was behind them and the laughter felt cleansing and right.

 

“I missed you, you know,” she offered when the laughter was done, squeezing his hand for emphasis, and he nodded his agreement. 

 

“Yeah, me too,” his face was suddenly blank, serious. “I--” he held out his free hand as if he meant to--touch her maybe, she wasn’t sure--then just shook his head. “I just really missed you,” he finally settled on.

 

Looked like she would have be the one to bring up what happened--because if they were going to move forward as partners (and hopefully also as  partners , because she wanted that, she really did) then they had to drag it out into the open, as embarrassing as it would be to express their feelings so plainly. 

 

“About--what happened--” She felt her face go hot and hated that she was so little able to hide her emotions, but pushed on, carefully meeting his gaze. “I--I mean, it was very--”

 

Well, screw it, Maka had always been more a woman of action anyway--she launched herself at him, her lips finding his as easily in reality as they had in the Black Room, and he was just as eager here as he had been there, hands moving instantly to her waist, her hands finding his shoulders. It was awkward; clearly neither of them had kissed anyone before since their noses smooshed together and their teeth clacked a little painfully (the ease of it in the Black Room spoke to the familiarity of their souls with one another, not any other experience). Still, none of that mattered, none of that  could matter as she felt his lips, warm on her own, eager and sweet and more than a little sloppy as they introduced tongues they had no idea what to do with. 

 

She pulled away first, breathless, and Soul rested his forehead against hers as she murmured, “Nice,” finishing her earlier sentence. 

 

Not missing a beat, he nodded against her, a shy grin spreading across his features. “It really was.” He pulled back to look at her, appearing nervous and hopeful in a way that was so endearing, she nearly kissed him again. “So does this mean we’re--” Soul trailed off, the question in his eyes clear even if his words were less than eloquent.

 

Smiling broadly, Maka nodded. “Yeah, I think it does,” she said. 

 

This time, she did kiss him, soundly. Thoroughly.

 

And for the first time in over a week, all was right with the world. 

  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
